The Orphan
by jazzpha
Summary: One of the orphans at Arendelle's orphanage asks the man who runs it for a story, as a present for her eighteenth birthday. The man obliges, but it's not the story the girl was expecting to hear at all... One-shot. Shades of redemption!Helsa if you look for it, I suppose.


**The Orphan**

* * *

Arendelle's orphanage was not a terribly large one, but it was clean and warm and all the orphans who lived there shared the opinion that it felt very much like a home. And if you asked them why this was, the answer was unanimous:

The man who ran the orphanage treated all of them like his own children.

Most of the orphans, as a result of this, found other homes and families not too long into their stays. Some of them, to the amusement and sadness of the orphanage's owner, had even declared that they would never leave, even if a family wanted to adopt them.

They all still left eventually anyway. But the sad man with the short red hair and blue eyes, whom all the orphans addressed as if he was their own father, did not begrudge them this. They deserved to have an actual family unit, with parents and siblings that cared for them. Something the sad man had only been able to dream about.

But there was one child who had yet to find a home, causing the sad man no end of consternation and worry. Today was her eighteenth birthday, and she had hair that was as strikingly and uncommonly red and fiery as her personality. Her eyes were a deep blue that was bordering on violet, and the sad man figured that the color was a result of natural blue mixing with unnatural red.

It only made sense, considering what the girl could do. It was the reason she was still here, and not out in the kingdom where she belonged.

"Papa," she said, looking up at the sad man with a pleading look she'd been honing for years, "can I ask you for something? For my birthday?"

"Of course, Ingrid," he answered, smiling warmly. "What is it?"

"A story," Ingrid answered, sounding oddly apprehensive. "The one you never tell me. I'd like very much to be able to hear it, please."

"Ah," the sad man said, sitting down in his favorite old armchair by the fire. In the light of the flames, as the shadow played about his face, he suddenly seemed very much older than his thirty-six years would suggest. "I see."

Ingrid's face fell.

"Does that mean—?"

"No," the sad man cut her off quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "No, not at all, sweetheart. I'll tell you. It's just… I don't think it'd be a very good present. It's not a happy story."

"Well, you're here now," Ingrid said with a smile, "so at least it has a happy ending."

The sad man smiled in kind, leaning back into his chair as Ingrid took up a seat across from him and waited expectantly, leaning forward with a gleam in her eyes and resting her chin on her hands. It was a look that reminded the sad man very much of a young woman he'd once known, so much so that it made his heart ache with regret.

But he pushed past the ghost of his memory, took a breath, and began his tale.

"I suppose I ought to start with the beginning," the sad man said. "You know how I've always gone by 'Alexander', Ingrid?"

"Well, yes," the young woman said, arching an eyebrow in confusion. "That's your name, isn't it?"

"Now, perhaps," the sad man replied, "but it didn't always used to be. I used to go by a different name. A different name, for a different life," he continued, sighing. "But when I left that life behind me, I left my name, too."

"Why?" Ingrid asked, her confusion replaced by concern. "What did you do that was so bad?"

"A great deal more than I'd like to admit," the sad man said, sighing again. "I lied, I cheated, I hated, I stole, I… I almost killed," he said, pausing slightly to prevent his voice from cracking. "All in the name of something I never even needed in the first place. Something I never really wanted. I was horrible, and blind to it."

"I don't believe it," Ingrid said, with the steadfast certainty of pure innocence. "You could never do those horrible things. I know you couldn't."

"And that means more to me than you'll ever know, truly," the sad man said with another pained smile, "but I'm not lying to you. You wanted the story of how I came to run this orphanage, and so I'm going to tell you. Wouldn't be much of a birthday present if I wasn't truthful, now would it?" he finished, his smile gaining back some of its old levity.

"I guess not," Ingrid said, sitting back in her chair. "So, what's the rest of the story, papa?"

"Right," the sad man said, "my story. Well, once upon a time, I was a Prince. And believe it or not, I had twelve brothers."

"_Twelve?_" Ingrid exclaimed, incredulous. "Was your mother a saint?"

The sad man laughed, inwardly surprised that he still could.

"She might as well have been," he said, before his expression darkened again. "My father, on the other hand, was anything but that."

"Yeah," Ingrid said lowly, "I know how that feels."

The sad man reached out and put one of his hands over Ingrid's, giving her a small smile.

"Your father's not here," he said. "He was stupid enough to throw you out of his life. Don't give him the satisfaction of being a monster in your closet for the rest of your life."

"I know, I know," Ingrid said, sighing. "And I'm trying. It's just hard. But this isn't about me," she continued pointedly, looking over at the sad man. "Keep telling the story, and stop trying to get out of it," Ingrid finished, a smile taking the sting out of her words.

"Okay," the sad man said with a short laugh, "guilty as charged. Well, I just wish I'd taken my own advice back then. I looked up to my father like he knew everything, and it certainly felt like he did. He and my brothers, too. 'Power is everything,' they said. Princes became Kings, and brought the family name honor and glory. Nothing else mattered," the sad man finished darkly, "and especially not the means used to accomplish that goal."

The sad man paused for a moment, taking a long sip from a large cup that rested on a small nearby table.

"My childhood was… a lonely one, to say the least," he resumed after a few moments, his dull blue eyes growing vague with a memory as he lost himself in thought. "My mother, bless her heart, only had so much time each day to look after her children. Even when some of my older brothers married into kingdoms and formed the alliances my father had always expected from them, there were still many more children than my mother could reasonably manage. And my father forbid her from ever hiring any sort of help—no 'lower-class' women had any business teaching his sons anything."

"Your father sounds like a jackass," Ingrid said bluntly, before realizing what she'd just said and grimacing. "Sorry."

The sad man laughed.

"No need to apologize," he said. "Who taught you that word?"

"Fredrick," Ingrid admitted after a moment, blushing slightly. "Says the baker called him that one day when he caught him trying to steal a loaf of bread. Before you took him in, of course," she added hastily. "He'd never do something like that now."

"I know, don't worry," the sad man said. "That was just… surprising. Anyway, as I'm sure you can imagine, growing up like that was… isolating, to say the least. My mother was busy looking after everyone in the family but me, my father was busy being King, and my brothers were all too busy trying to marry princesses to talk to each other—or to me. So eventually, once I got to be of suitable age, I decided I had to go find a Princess to marry.

"Problem was," the sad man continued, "living in a castle your whole life where women only get talked about like means to an end has a way of influencing you. Most everyone I courted saw right through me, and could tell I only cared about what they had to offer politically. If I'd been one of my brothers, I might have still been confident enough to pull it off anyway, but…" the sad man shrugged. "I wasn't."

"That's not a bad thing," Ingrid said. "That's not what a relationship is supposed to be, anyway."

The tone of her voice told the sad man she was thinking of her parents, and he didn't press the subject.

"So," he continued instead, "eventually, I realized that the key would be to find someone naïve enough to believe what I was saying, even though I was lying through my teeth," the sad man explained, his voice bitter with anger and self-loathing. "And what better place to try that out than a kingdom that had had its gates closed for almost as long as I'd been alive?"

The sad man paused for another drink, and waited and watched as Ingrid put the pieces together. He saw the confusion he was expecting, followed by the slow dawning of understanding and the incredulity that came with it. He braced himself, waiting for the revulsion that was sure to follow.

But the revulsion never came across Ingrid's face, replaced instead by the return of confusion as she struggled to understand what she'd been told.

And that broke the sad man's heart even more than all the times his family had called him a monster while he'd been rotting in prison. It was a mercy he didn't deserve at all.

"You…" Ingrid began at last, and the sad man gave her time to finish as he continued to drink slowly. "_You're_ Prince Hans? Of the Southern Isles? I thought you were dead!"

"Most people do," Hans said, smiling bitterly. "It's a reputation I don't mind. Better my old life stay dead and buried, I say."

"But… mothers tell bedtime stories about you to their children," Ingrid said, still trying to make sense of the seeming contradiction. "They talk about you like you're some kind of monster!"

"I can't blame them," Hans said, smiling sadly. "I deserve it."

"No you don't," Ingrid said forcefully, and Hans could see the air beginning to shimmer just above her clenched fists under the force of an unnatural heat. "Don't say that. You took me in when no one else would. I—I almost burned this whole place down, and you just forgave me and rebuilt it! I owe you my life," Ingrid finished obstinately, glaring at Hans in a way he found oddly precious— again reminding him of the young woman he had known so long ago. "I don't care who you were, or what your name used to be. I know who you are _now_, and that's all that matters."

Hans sat back in his chair again and looked at Ingrid, surprised and touched by her words.

"You really mean that," he said at last, disbelieving, "don't you?"

"Of course I do," Ingrid replied, the air around her returning to normal as she took a few calming breaths and unclenched her fists. "After everything you've given to me—to all the other kids here—you think you don't deserve a second chance?"

"No," Hans said, "I don't. But that's my problem, not yours. Besides, I have a story to finish."

"Stop deflecting."

"Do you want to hear the rest of it, or not?"

Ingrid pouted petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes, please."

"Okay then," Hans said, smiling warmly again. "Then let me finish it, Ingrid."

He took another drink and cleared his throat, settling back into his chair with a sigh.

"When I got back home, after the 'Summer Winter' here in Arendelle had been taken care of, my father threw me in jail without a trial. He said I had to be made an example of, or the other kingdoms, dukedoms, principalities and fiefs of the land would think the Southern Isles were home to little more than power-hungry opportunists." Hans laughed bitterly. "Imagine that.

"I was furious, at first," he continued, sinking back into the memory again. "I raged. I screamed, I shouted at the hypocrisy of it all. I was angry for two years, Ingrid. Two long, solitary years. I didn't see another soul in all that time. My father had my food, such as it was, lowered into my cell through a hole in the ceiling. And honestly," Hans continued after taking another drink, "I think he only fed me because my mother begged him to. Anyway, after two years, all the anger had bled out of me. I was hollow. I felt like nothing… less than nothing, really. I had no friends, no family, no power, and my name was a black mark across the land.

"So I did the only thing I could, at that point. I sat there and actually, honestly, _looked_ at who I was. At what I was, at what I'd become. And I hated what I saw. It disgusted me. My whole life had been an act, a lie, and I had nothing to even show for it."

Hans' voice broke and he paused, catching himself and collecting his composure with a deep breath.

"So for the next two years in that damn cell, I tried to figure out how I could possibly go about making up for… my whole life, basically. I had a few ideas, but I knew that's all they were.

"So when my father finally let me out after four years and formally exiled me from the Southern Isles for the rest of my life and stripped me of the family name," Hans said in a voice that was so calm Ingrid found it slightly worrisome, "I figured that was as good a time for a new start as any. 'Hans of the Southern Isles' was dead, and 'Alexander Petersen' seemed like a perfectly normal, common name. Perfect for a monster who needed a new mask to wear, at least."

"Stop calling yourself that," Ingrid broke in, her voice intense enough to be on the verge of breaking. "Just stop. Please."

Hans was surprised by the strength of Ingrid's reaction, and reached over to put a hand on her knee.

"Hey," he said softly, "don't cry. I'll stop doing that, I promise. I didn't think it'd make you that angry."

"Of course it does," Ingrid said. "What do you think everyone on the street used to call me, before you took me in?"

Hans looked into the eyes of his charge and was reminded of another young woman he'd known a long time ago, so painfully that he kicked himself for being an idiot and not seeing it sooner.

"I'm sorry," he said gently, leaning back into his chair again and sighing. "I'm not a monster, but I am still a total idiot, even after all this time."

"Happens to the best of us," Ingrid said with a weak smile, regaining her emotional footing. "What did you do when you got exiled?"

"I traveled around the other kingdoms, just trying to live as normal a life as I could," Hans answered. "I tried to do some good for others, and tried to discover what it was I wanted in life. Not what someone else wanted for me, or what society had been telling me my whole life was the 'right' or 'proper' thing for a Prince to do. I wanted to be better than that.

"It took seven years of working whatever jobs I could get before I realized what I wanted to do," Hans said. "It was tough at times—people turned on me when they found out who I used to be, and chased me out of their lives. Sometimes, they even tried to kill me. Probably to sell my head to Queen Elsa…" he shrugged. "Who knows. But there were some kind souls who helped me a great deal, and I still need to repay them for it.

"But once I had enough money under my belt, I came back here to Arendelle. I thought, at the time, that it was the perfect place to try to redeem myself—the site of what was almost my worst crime. I thought one day I'd get the chance to thank Princess Anna and Queen Elsa personally for helping me see straight, but now I think it's best if they just don't know I'm here. Some wounds take a long time to heal, if they ever do," Hans finished, draining the last of his drink and smiling sadly again.

"That was seven years ago," he said, "and here we are now. The end."

Ingrid was silent for several moments, her violet eyes unreadable as she worked her way through a myriad of emotions. In the end, when she spoke, her voice was calm.

"Thank you very much for telling me all of that, papa," she said. "That you felt comfortable doing so—it means a lot. But you still haven't answered the question."

"I haven't?" Hans asked, arching an eyebrow. "How not?"

"You never told me _why_ you started this place."

"Ah," Hans replied, nodding in understanding. "No, I suppose I didn't. I guess… I guess I just knew what happened to children who didn't have parents who cared about them. I wanted to make sure no one else turned into…" he caught himself and bit his tongue, "…what I'd been, just because no one had been there to help them not make those mistakes.

"I suppose it probably sounds arrogant to assume I could be a good role model," Hans said, "but I thought it was at least worth a try."

"It's not arrogant at all," Ingrid said, smiling. "You might not think about it, but you've done a lot of good for all of us here. Annika says her nightmares are almost gone completely, and Kaspar's actually talking to the other kids now. And those're just the most obvious examples."

Hans returned Ingrid's smile, feeling his heart lighten at the news. Maybe there was some hope for him to make amends, after all.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for believing in me."

Ingrid grinned, her red hair glinting merrily in the now-dying firelight.

"Don't mention it," she said. "That's what family's for."

"True enough," Hans said, feeling much lighter as the weight of his past finally rolled partly off his shoulders. It would take several more years for him to consider himself absolved, but maybe Ingrid was right. It was time to at least start forgiving himself, and see where that led him.

The two of them began talking about other, less serious things, including but not limited to Ingrid's insistence that Hans find himself a girlfriend.

"I'm serious," she said, hands on her hips for emphasis. "Loneliness is no good for anyone, least of all you. You spend so much time giving us your energy and support, and no one's around to make sure you get the same. It's not fair."

Hans shrugged.

"You find me someone interested in an exiled Prince who almost committed regicide, and then we'll see," he joked bitterly. "Until then, I'm fine with things the way they are."

"But that's who you used to be," Ingrid replied. "Not who you are now. You said so yourself!"

"Yes, but I'm not going to lie to someone in a relationship, either," Hans said. "I've done more than enough of that to last me several lifetimes. They would have to be able to accept me for who I am, _and_ who I was… and I don't think those odds are good."

Ingrid was about to continue to argue, but they were interrupted by the arrival of another orphan who was a couple of years younger than Ingrid.

"There's someone here to see you about maybe adopting, father," he said, his gray eyes bright beneath an unruly mop of black hair. The young man looked at Ingrid and blushed before nodding to Hans. "Wouldn't say who she was, though, an' I couldn't see her face. Should I send her in?"

"Thank you, Henrik," Hans said with a smile. "And please, do."

Henrik nodded again and retreated quickly, but not before slipping a smile in Ingrid's direction.

"I think he likes you," Hans said, drawing a laugh from Ingrid.

"What gave you that idea?" she said. "Looks like he hates me."

The mysterious visitor entered the room to the sound of both of them laughing, in the process of removing the hood that covered her face. Hans had just refocused himself when he saw who she was, stopping cold in shock. The woman did the same thing, except that her surprise was accompanied by a reflexive gust of chill wind that snuffed out the fire in the fireplace and left the logs covered in gleaming ice.

"Elsa?" Hans asked after a moment, scarcely believing the sight. "Is that you?"

The Queen was at a loss for words, and only the sight of Ingrid staring at her in dumb shock brought her back to the present.

"_Hans?_" she asked at last, stunned. "Is that—I thought—I'd heard you were dead!"

"I was, after a fashion," Hans said, rising to his feet as Ingrid did the same. "What are you doing here?"

"I… I came here looking to adopt someone," Elsa said, finally getting over her shock. "I wasn't expecting— may I sit down, please?"

"Of course," Hans was quick to say, bringing over a nearby chair. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Elsa sank down into the chair, looking up at Hans with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"It really is you, then," the Queen said at last. "You look different."

"Four years of solitary confinement and fourteen more of soul-searching tends to do that," Hans answered, his tone completely level. "Being exiled doesn't hurt, either."

Elsa stared at Hans in silence for several moments, clearly wrestling with a sudden and unexpected rush of emotions. Ingrid shifted nervously in her seat, reading the tension in the room.

"Umm… should I go?" she asked Hans after a few moments, hesitant.

"If you'd like, certainly," Hans said. "But if you wouldn't mind fixing the fireplace before you go, please, I'd appreciate it."

"Oh," Ingrid said, as if she'd forgotten she could do that. "Okay. I guess… the Queen might not mind, considering… y'know," she finished lamely, wanting to melt into a puddle on the floor. Instead Ingrid raised her hands, focused—

And a controlled gout of flame shot out of them and reignited the fireplace, the wood crackling once more with renewed intensity.

Elsa almost rose out of her chair in surprise, but kept her own powers in check this time.

"Incredible," she said quietly, looking at Ingrid with wide eyes. "Incredible."

"You… you really think so?" the young woman asked, sounding both surprised and embarrassed.

Hans fought to suppress a smile.

"I do," Elsa said with a smile. "Please, sit down. What's your name?"

"Uhhh, Ingrid, your Majesty," Ingrid answered, taking her seat before rising quickly to her feet again, giving a hasty curtsey and sitting back down again.

"Nice to meet you, Ingrid," Elsa said. "Have you always been able to do that?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Ingrid replied. "For as long as I can remember," she finished, a sadness coming into her voice that Elsa knew all-too-well.

Hans saw the look on Elsa's face and spoke again, trying to keep the pain of old wounds at bay as best he could.

"Elsa," he said, "you mentioned something about wanting to adopt. Why? I thought you and Gustav…?"

Elsa looked at Hans incredulously, not speaking for several heartbeats.

"You mean… you really don't know? You haven't heard?"

"Haven't heard, what?" Hans asked, worry in his voice. "Is something wrong?"

Elsa paused again, looking over at Ingrid intently.

"None of what I'm about to say leaves this room," she said, shifting her piercing gaze back to Hans. "Am I clear?"

"Absolutely," both Hans and Ingrid said simultaneously.

"Good," Elsa said, before her façade crumbled and she sighed.

"Gustav asked for—and _won_— an annulment."

"What?" Hans exclaimed, genuinely shocked. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" Elsa asked, her voice pained. "Think about what I'm doing here, Hans."

Hans put the pieces together, his shock gradually turning to seething, barely-controlled fury.

"He couldn't have."

"But he did," Elsa said, sounding hollow. "That was all the reason he needed to turn around and end things. It certainly didn't help that Hoffstander's high council is looking for a husband for their Queen Regent, but… I didn't think he'd _actually_ leave," she finished, looking as empty as she sounded. "We tried, Hans. I tried. I did. But it just didn't work. I don't know if it was my powers, or what caused it, but…"

Elsa choked off her words in a half-sob, offering a barely-intelligible apology.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Elsa," Hans said, his fury replaced by calm intensity. "Nothing at all. Gustav is an ass, and that's it. I've been to his home country, and I've talked to the royal family. Between us: it's not you. It's him."

"Are you sure?" Elsa asked, sounding cautiously optimistic.

"Positive," Hans said. "I know you probably won't, but trust me on that one."

Elsa sighed again, but this time there was relief in it.

"Still doesn't change the fact that now everyone believes him, that slime," Elsa said bitterly. "Still," she allowed, "that is good to hear."

A few beats of awkward silence passed between the trio, until Hans broke it.

"Does that mean you don't want to adopt anyone, Elsa?"

"Oh, no," Elsa answered, "I'd like to, regardless. It'll take a few years at least for this whole situation to blow over, and the castle still feels empty."

"Okay, then," Hans said, rising to his feet again. "I'll give the two of you some time to get better acquainted."

"Thank you, Hans," Elsa said, rising as well. "I… I don't quite know what to say. All of this is… well, rather unexpected."

"The feeling is mutual, Elsa," Hans said. "But thank you for not freezing me on sight. I won't ask for your forgiveness, but your mercy is appreciated—and a good deal more than I deserve."

The former Prince bowed and made to leave, but saw the look in Ingrid's eyes and took a moment to whisper a parting message in her ear.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "Don't do it. It won't work."

The grin Ingrid flashed him in return as he left the room told Hans exactly what she thought of his advice, and he shook his head in dismay.

_Kids_, he thought, before he reflected on how the meeting with Elsa had gone. Hans smiled—maybe he was getting better, after all. Only time would tell, but a start was a start.

* * *

…

…

…

**A/N: **I just had this idea last night, and it wouldn't leave me alone until I finished it. And now it's done. I hope it didn't suck. Also, Hans feels. All of them. And Elsa. :(

I'm a horrible person, yup. But at least there was light at the end of the tunnel, so...?

Still, I hope you enjoyed it. And please do let me know what you thought!


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